


beware of a silent dog and still water

by bleakmidwinter



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Argentina, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Murder, Oral Sex, Post Season 3, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, rescue dogs, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22044082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleakmidwinter/pseuds/bleakmidwinter
Summary: Snapshots of important moments in Hannibal and Will's life post fall (via dog collecting).
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 46
Kudos: 333





	1. Basenji

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter is based around Hannibal and Will finding a new dog to shelter, and an important event that occurs around each and every single one. There will be six chapters. [Edit: Five, it turns out]

**1\. Basenji**

Will doesn’t bother giving thought to his primitive desire to collect and harbor stray dogs for at least two months after the fall. 

When he sees rugged dogs in the boroughs of Argentina, sticking their snouts in the direction of street vendors and open-doored bakeries, he allows himself to feel only the impression of what a house full of panting, delightfully affectionate pawed creatures felt like. He does not lure them with treats in hand, as much as he yearns to. 

He’s living an existence most people would dream of having even for a week. Along with their hideaway beach house that Hannibal had apparently acquired years ago as a part of a real estate investment, he had also gifted Will a boat when they’d settled.. 

It was after Will had healed, and they had grown comfortable living in the same house together had he given him this endowment. 

He couldn’t ask for more. Surely.

In part, agreeing to run away with Hannibal to live the life of a spoiled, sun-kissed, immigrant in the suburban outskirts of Argentina had been a portion of Will’s plan to reinvent himself. The day the ocean had spit him back out, refusing his last chance at redemption, he had chosen the newborn path of his becoming. 

Dogs were a large portion of his previous life. A life he has no issue remembering, for guilt does not come easy to him these days. Guilt comes to him in brief moments of sparring with Hannibal, impressions of his long gone resentment flaring up for only moments at a time. Or, it comes to him in dreams, but never fully when he’s awake. He can think of Molly and Walter and think nothing but; _They are better off without me. I am better off without them_. 

There is an inkling of worry that stirs in his gut when he thinks about the dogs though. Dogs in general. If he were to befriend a stray and bring it to Hannibal, bring it into their _home_. He wonders if would cause any form of regression in him. He worries that it may disturb the peace he and Hannibal have found between each other; if it would dampen the fire that still burns bright when they toss around familiar, yet gentle banter. The urge to rescue one of the furry clumps of wet fur he sees nearly daily is growing stronger. He knows it is a bad idea, for if he gave in, he’d have great difficulty turning it away again.

At the end of a particularly calm night, Will is leaning against the countertop beside their sink, watching sauce and leftover shreds of kale wash down the drain from the plates Hannibal is holding under the faucet. He’s been waiting to ask Hannibal for a few days now if he’d be amenable to having a dog or two around the house. 

He doesn’t know why it feels like his first job interview. 

It feels wrong to ask, despite the fact they have shared more between each other than a married couple of forty years. Almost more. Hannibal provides the house, the location, and practically everything in Will’s life now. If Hannibal doesn’t want a dog, he might be too nice and agree anyway, and Will would be taking advantage of his generosity. If he doesn’t want one and says so, then Will is going to just have to suffer without dogs for the rest of his life. 

Will’s eyes shoot wide open at the thought. 

Will knew deep down but truly feeling the concept that he is going to be spending the rest of his life with Hannibal settles into place like sediment, and it has him choking on air. He clears his throat, Hannibal’s eyes glistening with something amused towards his direction.

Will speaks to clear the uncomfortable silence. “Do you need any help?”

Hannibal is smiling fondly, drying a bowl. “You’ve been standing here for approximately seven minutes, and you’re just now asking if I need help?” 

“I’m sorry,” Will says in a rush, sarcasm flying over his head like a peregrine falcon. “Got carried away with my thoughts, I guess.”

“I’m teasing, Will. I do not require assistance, though I relish in your presence.”

“I’ll stay then,” Will mumbles with a slanted smile. 

_Do you even like dogs?_ Will thinks to himself, staring at Hannibal. He wonders if he’s ever had any pets. He doesn’t seem like the type to take pleasure in it, but remembers Hannibal taking up the task of feeding his dogs with no quarrels. That had been when he’d been trying to establish a friendship with Will, however. He’s not sure that counts.

“Your thoughts are louder than a steamboat engine, Will,” Hannibal says after some time. Will jumps, for a moment forgetting that Hannibal cannot read minds.

Then he scoffs. 

“If they’re so loud, what was I thinking about?”

Hannibal turns the faucet off. He rakes his eyes over Will, and Will can see the barest movement of his nostrils, as if he’s trying to sniff his way to the answers. 

“Could you offer me a hint?” he requests softly. Will tries to find words that adequately describe dogs in the most simple of ways. The bare essentials.

“Rugged, panting, and wet,” Will answers with a bit too much grit. 

Hannibal’s eyes widen, and Will turns beet red.

“Oh, that’s not what I...I’m thinking about dogs, that came out really wrong, I’m…It’s dogs. _Just_ dogs.” Will laughs nervously, running a shaking hand through his hair. He refuses to look at Hannibal, refuses to see what expression is on that godforsaken face. “Freud would have a field day with what just happened.” 

Freud would tell Will he’s got it bad, and he’d be half-right. Will’s been on edge and aching for more of the touch they’d shared on the cliffside. Too chicken to take it, too chicken to ask for it. What this base desire to touch Hannibal means, Will refuses to explore. For now. Perhaps if Hannibal even dared to close any distance between them, he’d be far more willing to explore these... _feelings_. 

When he finally prys his gaze upwards and sees Hannibal’s amusement has not faltered, he feels a spike of rage. Rage and an acute frustrating desperation. 

“Finish the dishes,” Will barks out, storming out the back door of the kitchen before Hannibal can stop him. He stalks his way down the beach, not paying attention to the sand that makes its way into his socks and shoes. 

When he reaches the edge of the water, he falls to his knees and splashes it in his face. It’s cold, foamy, and burns his eyes. He thinks about Hannibal and he wants to scream. This was supposed to be easy. Falling together was supposed to be the hardest part. Why does this feel worse than the sting of the salt water on his wounds when they’d made impact? 

Why does Will feel like he’s falling all over again? 

The strangled sound of an animal breaks him out of his fit, and he sits up on his haunches, catching a glimpse of ginger fur falling in and out of his view. An animal is struggling to stay above the water, at the edge of the small dock.

It must have fallen in.

Without a second thought, Will dives into the water, using long strokes to reach the dock. He scoops up the animal, a dog, in his arms and tosses it back onto the dock, pulling himself up with immense effort, the wood creaking underneath his trembling arms. The wounds that are still healing begin to smart again, and ache dully. The pain does not distract him from tending to the dog, looking down to find it’s front right leg bitten into ravenously, as if it had sparred with an animal. Will tried not to imagine it limping off the dock accidentally, submitting to its fate as it hit the cold water. 

Not too dissimilar to him, Will thinks. 

“I’m here buddy,” he says, teeth chattering despite the mild weather. The suddenness of his dip into the water had not done well for him, he’d always easily caught a chill. “Shh, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

All thoughts of Hannibal, the fall, the scene he’d made in the kitchen are forgotten as he carries the whimpering dog back to the house, dripping as he arrives at the back door. 

Hannibal is in front of him in an instant, not noticing the animal, eyes darting up and down Will’s body, head to toe, assessing any damage. Only when he sees there is none does he examine the hound.

“It...fell, it’s injured,” Will manages. 

Hannibal brushes his fingers against the dog’s cheek, with such tenderness that Will can sense the dog calming down, the trust the gentle pressure of a stranger’s caress brings. 

“Come,” is all Hannibal says, leading Will to the upstairs bathroom.

They bathe the dog (a boy, as they figure out), tend to his wounds, and give him a small sedative so he doesn’t further injure himself. 

Will spends a solid amount of time drying the short fur with a towel.

The closest room is Hannibal’s bedroom, and without Will saying a word, Hannibal picks the dog up and places him at the end of his bed so he can rest soundly on a comfortable surface. Will curls a hand into the fabric of his jeans.

“You handled that better than I did.”

“Your empathy overrides your ability to act rationally. You were merely concerned,” Hannibal stands, walking only close enough to keep their conversation curt and cordial. “It is a good thing you brought him to us. Without our aid, he very well could have died.”

“Yeah,” Will swallows and looks down at the dog. His eyes are blinking open every few seconds, sleepily, too intrigued by his two saviors to allow himself to succumb to a nap. “You’re supposed to be sedated,” he jibes and the dog huffs, as if in understanding.

When Hannibal’s searing gaze in his direction begins to penetrate the weak walls he’s built around himself to mask his attraction in its entirety, Will turns on his heels. As he has been doing since their first night in this house. 

“Goodnight Hannibal.” When Will turns, the dog whines. He swerves to see if he’s in pain. The dog has sat up, staring directly at Will, tail flat against the sheets. Hannibal looks back and forth between Will and the dog, amused. 

Will reaches for the door knob, eyes locked on the dog, and the dog yodels, whining in the back of his throat. Will laughs and reaches for it again, retracting his arm, and reaching again just to hear the whines like a broken record. 

“It seems he has taken a liking to you,” Hannibal observes. “Perhaps you should take him to your bedroom for the night if he is more comfortable in your presence.”

Will tries. Valiantly. He tries lifting the dog, only to get bit. Tries luring the dog off the bed. The dog stubbornly remains seated, growling when Will tries to remove him from his spot on the silky sheets. 

Hannibal actually chuckles. “Maybe he’s taken a liking to us both.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do little guy!” Will exclaims, getting on his knees and rubbing his knuckles under the dog’s ears. It wags its tail in excitement. 

“You can stay with me for the night,” Hannibal suggests as if he’s suggesting a new spice for one of his soups. As if it’s that simple. “I’m sure this little thing would appreciate our efforts.”

“Alright,” Will responds before allowing his own brain the time to process this. 

They get ready for bed. Will doesn’t risk the dog throwing a fit, so he borrows a pair of Hannibal’s pajamas for the night, slightly oversized on him. All the while, he still does not process what Hannibal said. 

It’s when they’re lying in Hannibal’s bed, face to face, does his brain _actually_ process it. When his eyes instinctively travel down from Hannibal’s eyes, to his lips, he knows he should have just let the dog howl as he escaped to the continent sanctuary of his own bedroom. 

“What troubles you, Will?” Hannibal whispers, not wanting the dog to stir. Judging by the thing’s snores, not even a freight train could wake him. 

“A lot of things,” Will admits unsteadily. 

“Care to share with me?” 

_Yes_. “Not particularly.” 

Hannibal smirks. “Why is that, Will?”

“I’m not sure I’d be satisfied with your response,” Will wants to turn on his side. Anything to escape Hannibal’s burrowing gaze, but he doesn’t. Something keeps him still. 

Hannibal shifts closer, and the whites of his eyes become visible. Will swallows, still staring at his lips. He licks his own. 

“Please indulge me.” 

Will can’t tell him. “I’m wondering if you’ll let me keep the dog.” It’s not a complete lie. It is a question that has been roaming around in the back of his mind since they dried the dog off with a towel. But, it’s certainly not his top priority.

If Hannibal is disappointed, he hides it well, a smile appearing in a subtle rise of his cheeks. “This is your life, Will. I do not own it.” 

Will’s heart clammers against his ribcage like a nervous bird.

“If it brings you pleasure, I will be certain to cherish it.” 

In a rush of affection drawn out of him by these words, Will cannot recall the shape of his prior trepidation. He closes the distance between them and kisses Hannibal with an unfamiliar hunger. The hunger grows stronger when Hannibal reciprocates, placing the soft palm of his hand on Will’s scarred cheek. Will reaches up a hand to keep it there, parting the kiss with a sigh against Hannibal’s lips. 

“Did you know?” Will asks brokenly, noticing Hannibal’s unphased expression.

“I knew we’d be here one day,” Hannibal admits, voice slightly breathless. Warm against Will’s lips. “Though I admit your resolve crumbled sooner than I expected.” He strokes through Will’s curls with a contented sigh. “My dear, Will. I would have taken you to the shelter if I had known.” 

Will shifts closer, downwards, until his ear is against Hannibal’s heartbeat, thrumming rapidly. He settles against him, feeling like everything has fallen into place. For the first time since the bluff, he feels their connection in its entirety. 

When Hannibal leans down to press a kiss to Will’s forehead, and reaches for the lamp to shut it off, Will allows himself to close his eyes. 


	2. Rhodesian Ridgeback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some EXPLICIT content in this chapter. Graphic Depictions of Violence, and Graphic Sex.

**2\. Rhodesian Ridgeback**

“Quincy, _stop._ ” 

Will pushes weakly at the Basenji tackling him to the ground with bouncy, energetic limbs, and a sloppy tongue pressing relentlessly against his face. 

“Surrender, surrender!” Will shouts dramatically, playing dead on the ground. Quincy huffs, nudging him harshly in the side. Will grunts, but Quincy still assumes he’s dead. It’s about thirty seconds until Quincy gives up and retreats into their house. 

Will sits up, brushing dirt off his sleeves. He’s about to stand when he sees Hannibal being dragged outside, Quincy’s jaw clamped around his pant leg. Will keels over with laughter, at the offended expression on Hannibal’s face, and how dedicated this dog is to protecting him.

“I thought you must have had a seizure. He’s never done this before,” Hannibal leans down and picks Quincy up. He’s a bit too big to be carried normally, but Hannibal somehow works it out, the dog hugging him like a human. “You rascal,” he mutters and rubs the dog’s head.

After he sets Quincy down, Hannibal takes Will’s hand and lifts him up, pulling him into a kiss. Will relaxes into it instantly, winding his arms around Hannibal’s waist. With his eyes closed, and his heart full, he mumbles against Hannibal’s mouth between kisses, “What’s for lunch. Anything special?” 

Hannibal’s lips twitch into a smile, and if Will didn’t know better he’d say it could technically be classified as nervous. Will narrows his eyes, trying to read his expression. 

“What is it?”

“I haven’t started lunch,” Hannibal admits. Very unlike him. Will’s grip around his waist loosens slightly so he can pull back to watch him. “I was finalizing some research. Will, I’ve found one.”

Will’s stomach turns, a twisted apprehension that doesn’t quite lean on the edge of fear or excitement. Hannibal does not need to elaborate. For weeks, Hannibal had been searching for the perfect candidate for their next hunt, or rather _first_ hunt. Dolarhyde hadn’t exactly been a hunt, more of a capstone in their relationship. 

It was Will who brought it up. When kissing became natural, when their wounds had healed enough to explore the city, when Will began to feel restlessness like a ball of yarn in his stomach, a string unraveling, pulled taut by his maker. 

He feared what would happen if the yarn ran out. He told Hannibal he’d want to explore this side of himself more. Now that they can, it seemed the next step forward. The right step.

Hannibal updated him for weeks, telling him he’d found a few appropriate candidates for this hunt. Will assured Hannibal he didn’t mind killing someone who didn't deserve it, but the candidates were all still unmistakably miserable, second-rate personalities. 

He’s sure Hannibal wants this to be pleasurable for Will. If it’s not, he might not join him again. Will can tell that Hannibal has been aching for this since the bluff. 

Now that he is faced with the reality that the hunt can begin whenever he’s ready, the twisted feeling in his stomach grows tighter. Hannibal’s hands stroke up the lower bend of his back. 

“If you wish to back out Will, I will show no judgement. Or disappointment.” 

Will gives an unsteady laugh. “Please, you’ve been looking forward to this like it’s Christmas.” When a vexed expression crosses Hannibal’s face, Will digs his hands into his shoulders, assuring. “I want to, Hannibal. I’m the one who told you I wanted to.”

“You may find that having is not so pleasing a thing as wanting,” Hannibal says.

Will scrunches his face up. “You did not just quote Star Trek to me.”

Hannibal smiles innocently. “I do not know what you mean.”

“Hannibal, listen, we both want it. I’m not in denial, I’m not kidding myself or anything. Unless you think I’d drag you down, you better take me on this hunt.” 

Hannibal’s eyes sparkle. He strokes Will’s cheek. Will knows he’s reeled Hannibal in whenever he strokes his cheek. It’s the way he concedes as much as it is a way he relishes in Will’s existence. “You could never drag me down.” 

Will smirks. “Never say never.” 

Hannibal smiles knowingly, kissing him hard. Will feels lightheaded. They haven’t had sex yet, but the promise of the act at some point keeps a steady trail of fuel leading to the flame in his gut, ever present when Hannibal touches him. 

When Hannibal pulls back he adds, “I’ve prepared soup.”

“I knew it!” Will shouts probably too loud for how close they’re standing, and he points a finger. Quincy who had been waiting patiently at their feet during their conversation whines an accusing chorus. “I knew you started lunch, you bastard.”

* * *

Will waits outside the bedroom of Matias Acosta, a proud rapist and shoddy businessman. He was told to wait fifteen seconds exactly after Hannibal disappeared into the bedroom. Fifteen seconds until Matias attempts to escape through this door. He’s on ten seconds, and his heart is pounding louder than he can think.

He’s zeroed in on the act of what they are doing. His whole world narrows down to Hannibal, Matias Acosta, and the sharpened knife he holds in his hand. Images of blood and skin ripping from bone and tendon flash in his mind. Matias is in front of him in this second, and with only animalistic instinct, he pounces, tackling the man to the floor.

Hannibal is behind them in an instant. He stomps on both of the man’s ankles, breaking them. The man screams as he struggles beneath Will. Will raises his knife, stabbing him in the back multiple times. Blood splatters across Will’s chest, drops finding their way across his throat and even on his face. He licks his lips, tasting the iron .The man continues his screams, but they become akin to the noise you hear when you fire a gun next to your ear. 

Will flips the man over, and Hannibal circles around them, kneeling down to grab the man by his neck. He splutters up blood, nostrils filling with red liquid. He’s scrambling at Hannibal’s arms, trying to pry him away, allowing Will to stab where he pleases. 

There is no guilt. No remorse. The concept of mercy is foreign to him as he digs the knife slowly into the space between the clavicle and scapula. The man lets out a different sound, like a wounded cat, and he kicks his legs in fight. Will wiggles the knife, turning it on an axis, knowing he’s found the spot when the body goes rigid, paralyzed. 

The man is moaning still, and Will watches, enraptured as the light drifts away from his eyes. Hannibal snaps his neck then, for good measure. Will lets out a noise when he hears the crack of it, desperate and relieved. He feels overheated; his head pounding vehemently. 

Will rips open the man’s shirt, trailing the knife all around the pudgy flesh, watching a red trail follow the silver tip. Hannibal is panting, arms shaking where he holds himself up, but Will can tell it’s not from exertion. Will drops the knife and drags Hannibal in for a bloody kiss. 

Hannibal grabs him so hard by his hair, he almost groans in pain. He leans into the touch instead, biting at Hannibal’s jaw, yearning for more. 

_This is my design._

* * *

They decide to bring the body back to their house so Hannibal can harvest the organs he wants in private, and then they can burn what they don’t use. Hannibal is used to presentation of his victims, but they’ve decided not to create a spectacle in Argentina. Not while they’re on the run, and especially not when the Chesapeake Ripper is is now a household name world-wide. 

They barely have the body in the trunk when Will hears barking. He and Hannibal exchange glances, and Will stalks over to the side of the house, knife still in hand. There is a dog sitting inside the half-opened garage. No dog tag, slightly muddy.

“Did you see a dog bowl inside?” Will asks Hannibal when he’s close enough. Hannibal shakes his head. 

“No, I did not. Perhaps he’s a stray.”

Hannibal returns to the car, depositing the body which they’d placed in a bag, completely inside, slamming the trunk shut. Will stares at the dog, a Rhosedian Ridgeback, and wonders futily if the stray depends on this dead man for food. 

“Will, we must leave.” 

The dog whines, and it’s almost comical to Will how this is the only moment of the night he feels a spike of guilt. If he has a weakness after everything, it’s this. 

“H-Hannibal, I…” 

“Bring the animal if you need to,” Hannibal says, disappearing into the car before Will can tell if he is agitated. Will lures the dog over and into the car. He sits in the back seat with it, soothing its whines as they drive home in silence. He can’t tell if Hannibal is affronted by Will’s decision to take the dog, but he couldn’t have left that place without it. It certainly would have ruined the thrill of the hunt for him. 

Hannibal deals with the corpse when they arrive home; the harvesting. The house has a shed that allows him his own space. Will brings the dog up to their bathroom, washing him and drying him efficiently before he takes a shower himself. Doesn’t want its muddy paws to create a mess on the rugs. 

When he leaves the steaming bathroom, he finds the dog has already made friends with Quincy. They’re roughhousing in the living room, and Will thanks the heavens there is a chandelier and no lamps in sight. 

He probably won’t have to bring up keeping the dog to Hannibal. By inviting it home, he’d practically allowed it an entryway into their lives.

Will is in the living room with the dogs, leaning down to check the gender. Definitely male. “Male, huh, um.” He pets the dog, scratching behind its ears. “How about Vincent? Dunno if that dead guy had a name for you but, I’m gonna change it.” The dog wags its tail, lapping at Will’s face which still smells of soap. 

Hannibal enters the kitchen, still covered in dry blood, new blood on his hands. He places a bag on the counter. He seems very distracted.

“Hey,” Will says in a soothing tone, heading over to the kitchen through the large archway that connects both rooms. Hannibal looks up, with a tired smile. 

“You look quite alluring. I’m afraid I haven’t gotten the chance to shower.”

 _Alluring_ , Jesus Christ. Will flushes. 

“Too busy getting ready for dinner,” he teases, “as always. Even if it’s tomorrow’s dinner. I’m probably gonna have to take a second shower if we’re still disposing of this asshole’s body tonight. What’d you get?.”

“You’re rambling, Will.” Hannibal observes him, eyeing him head to toe. “I could ravish you. A lung and a kidney.” 

Will swallows, “Sounds good.” 

“Does it?” Hannibal asks, a smile forming to show teeth stained pink. Will feels weak in the knees. He merely nods and Hannibal continues his work, storing the meat away for later. Will helps him dispose of the body. They’re far enough away from civilization that the smoke the fire creates could not signal to anyone their location. 

Will takes another shower right after Hannibal. The dog are asleep in the living room when he strolls down the steps, hair still damp. Hannibal is stretched out on the couch, eyes closed. The perfect picture of domesticity.

It’s so strange that hours prior they had been cutting into the flesh of a man, and now relish in the calm of the night. The comfort of being alive. 

Will crosses the room an kneels beside the couch, watching Hannibal’s sleeping face closely. He wants him more than he’s ever wanted anything or anyone. More than the hunt. The life he had before the Dragon has begun to blur more and more as the days go by. He doesn’t remember the fine lines of any faces he’d been familiar with, and he’s forgotten their voices. Forgotten the way every person in his wake had attempted to drag him away from Hannibal. The serpent who’d offered the apple.

He leans in to kiss Hannibal, and tastes the smallest hint of blood. The surge of want in his belly grows hotter and when Hannibal stirs, and kisses him back with a smile against his lips, Will throws himself up and over him so he’s straddling his lap. 

They kiss passionately, they’ve done this quite a bit in the past few weeks. Will had been growing bolder, but never quite reached the point where he was comfortable going further than the breathless state they both reach. Will is rutting against him now, trying to recreate the feeling he’d had cutting into Matias Acosta. When they’d kissed over his limp corpse, he’d wanted to be pressed into the wall and fucked like a wild animal. He’s too overwhelmed tonight to last for that long. For another night, he decides when he reaches into Hannibal’s pants and grips him firmly around the base of his cock.

Hannibal lets out a soft, surprised noise, scratching into the nape of Will’s neck with one hand, and pressing against his back with the other, to draw him closer. 

“Do you know how badly I want you?” Will asks, twisting his wrist on the upturn. Hannibal’s eyes are closed, hips making tiny stuttering movements. He looks like he’s reached pure bliss, nudging against Will for more kisses. 

“I assume your need mirrors my own,” Hannibal swallows, “in some fashion.”

Will rubs against his thigh as he jerks him roughly, spits on his hand to make it smoother. “I’m looking forward to seeing that,” he mumbles, kissing down Hannibal’s jaw. Hannibal tugs at his shirt, almost in an attempt to wish it away with sheer will power alone. Will laughs, running his free hand up under Hannibal’s shirt. His skin is so hot to the touch, he almost draws away out of instinct. It feels like putting your palm on a stove, turned to high. He can’t get enough of it. Imagines himself enveloped in this searing body, being fucked into a mattress. Will makes a desperate noise, teeth catching on skin under Hannibal’s jaw. He’s never thought about himself being fucked, but in the heat of the moment, it seems like the closest thing to euphoria.

“Tonight I want you in the most primal way a person can want someone,” Will whispers, slowly his hand slightly. Hannibal lets out a sigh like he’d been holding his breath. “But soon, I want you to fuck me. I want you inside of me. Is that something you can do?”

He speeds up his hand again, and Hannibal’s breath hitches.

“I would do anything you desire, Will.” 

Will chuckles into the crook of his neck. “That’s dangerous,” he whispers, kissing down his skin, hand under his shirt sliding over hardened nipples. Hannibal comes then, spilling over Will’s jerking hand. He cranes his head back against the cushions, letting out a short groan as the stutter of his hips subside. 

Will kisses his mouth gently, but he shouldn’t have expected Hannibal to be languid. He’s grabbed like an owl would clutch a mouse in its claws, and flipped over, shirt ripped off. The fabric tearing is a screeching sound in the silence of their living room.

Hannibal’s hands work quickly, undoing the drawstring of Will’s pajama bottoms, and tugging them down over his hips. Will has no time to feel ashamed or insecure, chest heaving dramatically up and down as the rapid beating of his heart catches up with his brain. Hannibal leans down, looking up darkly just once. 

“Can I taste you?” he asks politely. Will lets out a desperate noise, almost a word, he’s not sure he could classify as English. Hannibal takes it as a _yes_ , and sucks the head of Will’s cock into his mouth. He’s harder than he can ever remember being, and he knows this won’t last long. Not with the way Hannibal is enthusiastically sucking, bobbing up and down, as if whatever is inside him is his drug. 

“H-Hannibal,” Will stammers, a hand flying down to grip the hair that has no solid color, “ _Fuck me_.” He grabs the armrest behind him with his other hand. 

“Not tonight,” Hannibal mutters against the base of his cock, leaning down further to suck one of Will’s balls into his mouth. Will lets out a sharp noise, eyes squeezing shut. The sharp edge of Hannibal’s teeth tease the outside of his balls, and then the shaft of his cock again, and his face burns just thinking about it. 

The irony of this is lost to Will in the moment, but he’s sure he’ll think about how he’s allowed a cannibal to suck his dick when he’s sober of sex endorphins. 

When Hannibal’s fingers dig into his hips hard enough to bruise and he sucks tortuously at the head of Will’s cock, Will has no time to warn him before he’s spilling into his mouth. He’d chastise himself for losing it faster than a teenager if Hannibal wasn’t ardently swallowing down his spend. When his hips stutter up one more time, a droplet escapes Hannibal’s mouth and a noise gets caught in his throat when Hannibal licks one fat stripe up the side of his cock to make sure he doesn’t miss it. 

“Should have known you’d enjoy that kinda thing,” Will croaks out, feeling fucked out of his mind. He drags Hannibal down to embrace him tightly, kissing his pliant and swollen lips. Hannibal winds his arms around him, seemingly overjoyed. 

“We’re keeping the dog,” Will adds.

“I know,” Hannibal says, stroking up his sides.


	3. Norfolk Terrier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very small amount of EXPLICIT content in this chapter. Sorry this is a short one.

**3\. Norfolk Terrier**

Will is drowning.

Well, sort of. 

There is a broad shouldered Lithuanian crushing him with warm kisses and he can hardly breathe. It is the best Will has felt in months. Hannibal drapes over him so perfectly, making sure Will feels all of him. Makes sure that no part of him feels neglected. 

They’ve been kissing and absent-mindedly groping at each other for nearly fifteen minutes now, and despite how youthful he sometimes feels alongside Hannibal, Will knows neither of them are cut out for too much of this. 

“I’m ready,” Will whispers against his lips, canting his hips up gently once, twice to assure Hannibal knows what he means. 

Hannibal meets his eyes, and with hopeful assertion, he kisses Will harder, pressing his half-hard groin into Will’s. Will moans, arching up, gripping at the rounded curves beneath where Hannibal’s spine ends. 

It isn’t a special night. Nothing in particular had incited this. They’d been mostly sticking to oral sex or lazy handjobs in the kitchen or shower. Neither are in a rush, but they have nowhere to be tonight or tomorrow. 

And, Will has been becoming progressively hornier with the way Hannibal’s hands have been touching and prodding at the bare skin of his chest. The two wine glasses he’d downed at dinner aren’t exactly helping his case either.

“Lube’s in the top drawer under my socks,” Will whispers, nipping at Hannibal lips. Hannibal pulls back, surprised amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“When did you go out of your way to purchase lubricant?” 

What Hannibal is really asking is; _When were you out of my sight for the amount of time it would have taken you to buy the lube?_

“Don’t be so slow,” Will teases, relenting his tight grasp to allow Hannibal to gather the needed materials. He stares at the ceiling as he feels a pillow be inserted under his hips. “When we drove to the drugstore for those cigars you like. You were busy speaking with the merchant, so I bought some at the second register.”

“Clever boy,” Hannibal mumbles, stroking back a strand of hair on Will’s forehead. Will leans up to nip at his finger playfully and Hannibal draws back. “If not eager.”

“Of course I’m eager,” Will says, somewhat bashful. “You’ve wormed your way into every part of me, I’m ready to become wholly intimate with you. To cross the final stepping stone, as it were.” 

Hannibal is removing Will’s pants, slowly, admiring his body as it is revealed to him. They’d seen each other naked in the shower, but this is much more personal. Will squirms under Hannibal’s gaze, makes a high pitched sound when Hannibal swoops down to capture his lips in a kiss. 

Rutting up against Hannibal with just his boxers on is making him oversensitive, and he moans helplessly when Hannibal reaches down a hand to stroke his cock through the fabric of his underwear. 

“Everything you do is somehow magnified to a godly technique,” Will mutters, pressing his cock into Hannibal’s probing fingers. “God, _fuck_.” 

Hannibal chuckles. “Is this how God makes love then? By reducing you to incoherent praise towards his name and seductive stratagem?” 

“We aren’t doing metaphors during this, just shut up and fuck me.” 

Hannibal is about to oblige when they both hear a loud crash from the kitchen. Will freezes, and Hannibal turns towards their open bedroom door, a cool darkness falling over his expression. Fingers twitch where they now rest on Will’s thighs.

“Something must have fallen,” Will whispers. It is unlikely; Hannibal always makes sure pots and pans are squared away in a safe position. Nothing is ever tilting or leant over the side of a counter. The dogs had just left on an outdoor exploration. They normally would never be back this soon, and they are never unruly 

More noise echoes into the room and Will’s arms drop from Hannibal.

“Stay here,” Hannibal says, low. He gets up and puts his clothes back on, all the while something dark and dangerous storms within his mind.

“I’m not your housewife, I’m coming with you,” Will protests. He shimmies awkwardly into his own clothes, erection still present and painful as he zips up his jeans. 

“Will,” Hannibal warns but Will raises a hand at him, a warning of his own.

“No,” he whispers grumpily, grabbing the gun he keeps in his bureau. “I’m not hearing it. If you treat me like I’m not your equal again, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.” 

Something in Hannibal’s face softens and he follows Will out into the dark kitchen. They move like cats, slightly hunched over and creeping in on their prey with cautious intent. 

There is no one in the kitchen, at least no one standing. When he circles the island, he realizes that no one is here. It fills him with boiling rage. Will then hears a crash from the living room, and he darts over without a second thought, slamming the light switch on the wall with his hand. 

“Will,” Hannibal says suddenly. 

Will ignores him, taking long strides around the living room, head flipping around in all directions. “Where the fuck are you?” he snarls impatiently. 

It is as empty as the day he’d first seen it. 

“Will,” Hannibal says with a raised voice. It is enough for Will to nearly drop his gun; he has never heard Hannibal raise his voice in such a way. When he turns to face him, he is surprised to see Hannibal’s face loose and gentle. 

“Look under the couch.” 

“No one’s hiding under the _couch_ , Hannibal,” Will retorts, dumbfounded.

“Look.”

Will stubbornly falls to his knees, peering under the flap. 

“Holy shit.” 

He drags out the small Norfolk Terrier that has found itself shaking and hiding underneath it. The space beneath their couch is nowhere near big enough for a human to hide, but for a small dog, it is the perfect sanctuary. 

“Hey there, little one.” Will holds the small dog close to his chest, and dog’s tail begins to wag wildly. All rage inside of him simmers away. “How…” 

“The doggie door you installed in the backdoor,” Hannibal answers for him.

“Ah,” Will feels stupid. He had made it for Vincent and Quincy to come and go as they please. He hadn’t expected another dog to show up. 

Hannibal holds up a potato from the floor. It is bitten through. 

“I could smell the dog when we entered the room. It took me a few moments to realize it was not Vinny or Quincy.” He shifts his gaze to the dog, making eye contact as if it were a human. “Seems this young thing is hungry. Are you not?” 

The terrier stares at Hannibal and barks as if in response.

Will rolls his eyes. “I’m sick of you being the dog whisperer, you’re not even that fond of dogs.” He walks over to the kitchen with the dog still in hand and helps Hannibal put the potatoes scattered over the floor back in the bowl that had been knocked down. 

“I like dogs just fine, Will. I do not, however, seek them out.” Hannibal runs a hand over the terrier’s back and it’s tail wags impossibly faster. 

“I want to name it Potato,” Will whispers, pressing his face into the beige hair. It stinks like grass and salt water. 

“No.”

“Why not?” Will’s heart pounds and he worries for a moment that Hannibal has reached his limit on the amount of dogs he will allow in their home.

Hannibal takes the dog and lifts it up to check. It is male. 

“His name will be Patatino.” 

Will recognizes it as Italian, but does not recognize the word. Hannibal sees his bewilderment and smiles, scratching behind the small terrier’s ears.

“Little potato,” he clarifies. 

Patatino is handed back to Will after they both give him a few loving cooes and scratches. Dragging meat, spices, and other ingredients out of cabinets and the fridge, Hannibal works enthusiastically at making some intricate dog food for the new member of their family. Will sighs in defeat when he realizes he won’t be getting laid tonight. 

With a soft smile cast in Hannibal’s direction, he retreats to the backyard where Quincy and Vincent are most likely still lingering, readying himself to introduce Patatino to the pack.


	4. Finnish Lapphund

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst Incoming.

**4\. Finnish Lapphund**

The feet of the chair scrape against the hardwood floor, and Hannibal blunders off into the bedroom. Will stays at the table, eyes watering. His mind is blank, rage fusing out into mindlessness. He regains his sensibilities when Hannibal is storming past him, bag in hand. He stops at the front door, shoulders tensing.

He wants desperately to turn. 

Instead, he opens the door, slams it behind him, and disappears into the night. The sound of a car starting accompanies his desertion.

Will opens his mouth, calling after him too late. When his legs eventually regain strength, no longer feeling like liquid, he stands and makes his way back to the bedroom, shaking all the while. He pulls the covers on his and Hannibal’s bed over himself, not bothering to remove his suit. 

The sheets smell like Hannibal. It’s fucking miserable.

_I would have been better off shoving you off the cliff and returning to my life. You mean nothing to me other than anguish and misery._

That was one of the many things he had said to Hannibal tonight. They’d never gotten into a fight as big as the one they’d toughed out this evening. He wanted to take the remark back as soon as it had left his lips. He would, if Hannibal returns now. But, Hannibal would most likely tell him; There is truth in jest as well as in tantrum.

The tension started when they were forced out of Argentina, Jack hot on their trail. 

They arrived in France almost two weeks ago now, and Will and the dogs have not been adjusting well. Will had just mastered the Spanish language. The dogs were comfortable in the old house, with a yard as big as a football field. 

The yard here is not too big, and their home is more of a large cottage than a house. Bigger than his house in Wolftrap, but he had practically fallen in love with the house they’d shared in Argentina. It had been large, but homey. 

He had fallen in love with his life there, the _routine_.

Will buries his face in Hannibal’s pillow, feeling the wetness from his eyes seep into the fabric. He curls fabric into his fists, bangs on the mattress. 

He tries to go over the events of tonight. 

It all seems hazy up until the first provocative phrase Will had spoken. 

* * *

“You act like this is fine. Hopping from country to country, not caring what you leave in your wake. You’re going to run out of countries,” Will says bitterly, chewing apart meat that feels more like jerky than anything even remotely tender. 

“It is merely what must be done in order for us to survive.” 

“Yeah, no. You can convince yourself of that all you like, but you just don’t want Jack to beat you. You could have killed him, easy.” 

Hannibal gives him a gawky stare. “You would be fine with me killing Jack Crawford?”

Will shrugs off the nagging sour feeling he gets whenever he thinks about his past for too long. “I would have been fine with staying in Argentina for the rest of our lives.”

“You know that would not be possible, if we were to continue the way we were.” Hannibal sips his wine, calculating Will’s responses. 

“Not if we were careful.”

“We were.”

“Then why?”

Hannibal cocks his head. “You know why, Will. Jack Crawford was one step away from tracking us down.”

“That’s never stopped you. Christ, Hannibal, I just wanted…” Will trails off, realizing his voice is raising enough to frighten the dogs. 

“If I killed Jack Crawford, the FBI would have found us either way,” Hannibal explains. 

“I don’t want to live like this. I can’t just set fire to a home we’ve created, and hope the next one is just as _comfortable_. I’d rather set myself on fire.”

“You seem to forget you chose the life of being on the run.” 

Hannibal cuts into his meat a tad more impertinent than his usual manner. Will has been so wound up over the last few weeks that he feeds off of aggravating him. He digs in deeper, unable to help himself, knowing he’ll regret it in the long run.

“Meat isn’t very good,” he mutters, ripping into it with his teeth. 

If it were anyone but Will at the table, they wouldn’t have noticed the slight twitch in Hannibal’s brow. Will does. 

“You’re being quite rude, Will,” Hannibal warns. The eye contact has stopped. If they choose to look at each other now, Will is sure someone will get injured. 

“I thought you like when I’m rude,” he retorts.

“I do most of the time,” Hannibal confirms. “But, I am merely human.”

“Bullshit.”

“Spite and revenge are colors you wear well, but I’m afraid that your attempt at riling is not becoming of you. Nor is hypocrisy.” 

Will scoffs, hands curled into fists. “Are you calling me a hypocrite?”

Hannibal looks him in the eye then, frigid and unreachable.

“Yes.”

“Fuck you,” Will snarls. “You have no right to call me a hypocrite, _you_ of all people. You should have majored in hypocrisy, right next to your minor in _manipulation_.”

Hannibal cooly watches his anger twist and turn into something hostile, a dangerous expression forming on his face, unwavering. 

A laugh shoots out of Will, hysterical in its bitterness. He loses sight of the situation, why he’s truly angry when his outburst flows out of him.

“You can pretend all you want, Hannibal. You can pretend that I’m here on my own volition. That I chose this, but every single step you took to ruin me and break down my forts were what brought me here. You fucking manipulated me, you hurt me, you destroyed my life, any chance I had for a normal one mind you, and you warped me into the same breed of monster you are, so don’t sit there and act like I have no right to be upset.” Will takes a few quick breaths, downing his glass of wine. 

He’s already pouring another one when Hannibal responds. 

“I never said you could not be upset.”

“Stop that you goddamn, _robot_ ,” Will grips at his hair, feels strands threatening to rip from his scalp. “Stop being so _kind_. You’re not kind.”

He feels the tears welling up in his eyes, but he drowns them in his rage. They must not escape him; he won’t allow them to.

“Will, you’re mourning the loss of our last home, and you’re transferring the rage onto me. Do not be irrational.”

“You’re psychoanalyzing me,” Will accuses. “You bastard, you’re manipulating me again. I thought we’d gotten past this.” 

“I am not manipulating you, Will.”

“You’re not kind, you’ve never been _kind_ , or generous. It’s all just some fucking nightmare I’ve trapped myself in, you’re just waiting for the right moment to pull the rug out from under me and fuck me over.”

Hannibal reaches for him, to comfort him, or assure him, but all Will can see at the moment is the hand that had once shoved Abigail Hobbs’ ear down his throat. 

“Don’t touch me,” he cries out, throwing his wine glass at Hannibal. Hannibal is covered in the red liquid from head to toe in the next moment, mouth parted in slim shock. 

Will nearly apologizes on instinct. Instead, his pride dominates his desire to hold Hannibal and kiss him, and tell him he’s sorry. 

“Y-You always make me feel _hate_.” 

Hannibal stares at him, aggrieved and dripping. 

It hurts Will more than the night with Dolarhyde. It hurts him more than the saw cutting into his skull had felt; every nerve ending and brain cell screams for the hurt to stop.

He says it anyway knowing Hannibal may never forgive him for it.

“I would have been better off shoving you off the cliff and returning to my life. You mean nothing to me other than anguish and misery.”

The relief he thought he would feel after saying those words does not come. A sense of revulsion fills him, and he feels bile in the back of his throat, present but not willing to relieve him of any discomfort. 

“Hannibal,” he says immediately, an apology on his tongue, but not forthcoming.

Hannibal is wiping his face with a napkin, and in every way he is unresponsive, expression indifferent and placidly wounded. 

The chair screeches against the floorboards.

* * *

Will tries not to think about Hannibal’s departure. 

Though they have not shared a fight of this caliber before, out of the arguments they _have_ shared, they have only ever resulted in make-up sex or a simple conversation on the couch to alleviate the tension. 

Hannibal once made him his own special recipe for Chocolate Mousse as an apology.

During one particular argument, Will had been the one to storm out of the house. He had only been gone for two hours, needing a drive around the city to clear his mind. Now, he’s not sure when Hannibal is going to return. 

His words had been cruel and unforgiving.

Will regrets every single one of them; the meat hadn’t even been bad. 

“Hannibal, I’m sorry,” he whispers into the pillow. 

He’ll get on his knees if he has to, he just wants Hannibal to come back. He needs to fix it. Honestly, he has no clue why Hannibal loves someone like him, an emotional wreck of a man, prone to hostile outbursts whenever he’s inconvenienced. 

A whine sounds from under the bed. Will cranes his body over the side and picks up Patatino who was waiting politely to be lifted up onto the sheets. 

Will snuggles him with him, allowing Patatino to lick his face lovingly.

“Do you think Hannibal is going to forgive me for being so stupid?” He asks their dog. “I think I’ve crossed the line,” he includes with a sigh. 

Patatino tilts his head, and his eyes droop. 

It is in seconds that he falls asleep right next to Will’s face.

“Not your problem, huh?” Will scratches behind his dog’s ears, watching the slow rise and fall of his stomach. He wishes he could be as careless as a dog. 

He falls asleep in his full evening attire not long after, and wakes up in a sweat not dissimilar to the occurrences he would experience in Wolftrap. 

“Hannibal?” He calls as he takes long strides around their house. No sign of him, and the car is still gone. His knees feel weak, and all he can do for any manner of reprieve is take a shower. His hair sticks to his forehead uncomfortably, and his clothes are wet from the heat of the summer, and the disquiet his nightmares bring.

Hannibal does not arrive that night, nor the next morning. 

Will begins to panic, spending his time watching television by the front door, the dogs curled up on his lap or at his feet. The channels are all mostly in French, and he finds one channel which plays _Little House on the Prairie_. It’s agonizing. He sleeps on the couch the second night so that if Hannibal returns, he will be there. 

When he wakes once more and finds an empty house, he smashes the mirror in the bathroom while brushing his teeth. The crippling reality that Hannibal may never return starts to set in, and he thinks briefly about wandering into town and murdering someone. He’d bend and break the body into an apology, somehow. 

He’s finished bandaging his bloody knuckles when he hears the wind chimes at the door jingle. The momentary guess is that the summer winds have returned, but when he hears the door slam shut and the dogs barking and howling, he runs out into the hall, hair unbrushed and beard unshaven. 

“I didn’t mean it,” are the first words out of his mouth. “Hannibal I didn’t mean it.”

Hannibal is smiling at him softly, almost amused.

“You could have meant it, Will. I would not be angry with you.”

Will rushes over and takes his face in his hands, kissing his lips softy, one too many times. He grips tighter, not wanting to let him go.

“I didn’t mean it,” he repeats. “I just get so worked up.”

“I know you better than you know yourself, Will. I hope that you can grow accustomed to France, but if you would rather emigrate, I have many safehouses scattered all over the world.” Hannibal kisses him back gently.

Will looks into his eyes finding only fondness, and wants to collapse and beg for forgiveness, even though he has already exacerbated the intensity of the moment.

“Why did you leave for three days?” Will asks.

Hannibal lifts up what he is holding in his hands.

In the intensity of Hannibal’s return, Will hadn’t noticed the puppy in Hannibal’s arms. Will looks between Hannibal and the dog, eyes glistening. 

“A new member of the family. I would attempt to explain how I came into contact with this lovely stray and managed to tame it, but it is a long tedious story for another day. I found him in a dumpster, that is all you need to know for now.” 

“You didn’t just buy a dog to appease me, did you?” Will asks, stroking through the remarkably clean coat of the Finnish Lapphund.

“You approve of murder, but I knew you would never approve of me going to a breeder of all people,” Hannibal regards. His teeth showing in a grin, he lifts up a hand to stroke against Will’s beard. “I am sorry too,” he adds.

“Hannibal, you don’t need to—”

“I do. I wish I could give you the life you truly want, Will. It is impossible to have our cake and eat it too.” 

“If I’m with you, it _is_ the life I truly want,” Will assures. “I just get blinded by pleasantries. You spoil me too much, so I’ve become somewhat of a brat.” 

Hannibal actually chuckles, pulling closer to him despite the Lapphund’s whines. “You were always a brat,” he mumbles, kissing Will’s neck. The anxiety and simmering resentment that had lingered from the days past all but drain away. 

“What shall you name him?” 

“Dana,” Will says. There is never any meaning behind his names. He usually names his dogs the first name that comes to mind, and to him, that’s the most honesty he can reward his pack with. 

“Dana,” Hannibal echoes, scratching the dog’s head. “I quite like that.”

Hannibal notices the bandage on Will’s hands and his own flutter down to inspect the wound. “What happened?”

“Oh, uh, I might have smashed the mirror in the bathroom. Shit, I’m sorry. I was frustrated.” Will’s breath catches as Hannibal traces a thumb over the bandage lovingly. 

“Insatiable boy,” he asserts under his breath. 

“Welcome home, Hannibal,” Will whispers back. 


	5. Sloughi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> graphic depictions of violence (just a lil bit)

**5\. Sloughi**

Four days. One day too long. 

Hannibal taps his fingers against the dining table, in critical contemplation.

Will is not going to be delicate with him if he interrupts his mission, but Will had told him he’d be back in three days, no more, no less. It is unlike Will not to adhere to a plan. 

Patatino paws at Hannibal’s shoe and Hannibal picks him up. The smell of his muddy paws and damp coat reminds him of Will. Everything this morning has been nagging at the corners of his mind; Will, Will, _Will_. He can’t seem to make more than a few pancakes with strawberry drizzle without Will’s absence weighing on his mind.

The small bundle of fur between Hannibal’s hands scrambles away, seemingly attracted to the new smell that just strolled into the backyard. 

It is a dog that has been coming around for food for the last few days. 

Hannibal doesn’t feed her, as beautiful as he finds the Sloughi breed. He knows if he feeds her, she will continue returning. He was inwardly optimistic that she’d give up, go stick her nose elsewhere, before Will returned. 

Will is most certainly going to feel inclined to adopt her into their pack, and in truth, Hannibal has no qualms with this. He only wishes to keep any future emigrations they may have to undergo to be flawless and without room for issue.

If they keep stacking up on hounds, they may never escape the authorities. Being captured because of their dogs certainly wouldn't be ideal. It’s definitely not Hannibal’s idea of a reckoning. 

Mildly amused, Hannibal wonders if he could train the pack to attack law enforcement. Patatino could bite their toes while Vinny rips out their throats. If he’s being honest, the only thing Quincy would be good for is consuming the spilt blood. All that dog does is eat. Will wouldn’t approve; He wants the last pure thing he owns to remain pure. 

_Will_. The thought of him returns, even as he follows Patatino out to the porch. 

Sure enough, the Sloughi is back. She wanders closer, wagging her tail when the small terrier gets closer. Hannibal sighs, almost able to count the seconds it takes for Vinny and Quincy to come barging out, rushing past his legs in a storm of barks and panting. 

Hannibal winces, brushing off his pant legs. He watches the dogs play, thinking distancing himself from the Sloughi will deter her. She’d already stolen an eclair he’d left a plate of outside the day after Will had left. Of course she expects another. 

Looking up at the sky, he admonishes the weather to remain sunny and clear. 

He needs to find Will. It simply won’t do to wait another day for his arrival. The longer he waits, the more trouble Will could get into. If he’s in any. 

He gathers his things, his car keys, and drives a few towns over. It is only an hour and a half drive. Will had decided to kill by himself for the first time. And he didn't want to stray far from home to do it. 

When Hannibal arrives, he parks a few streets over from the victim's house. The victim was a man named Calvin Lawry, a man who had been particularly rude to Hannibal at a furniture auction. He had said things pertaining to the strangeness of his look and his accent and Hannibal, having felt particularly generous that day, passed the comments off as not worth his time. Will, however, had been furious. He hadn't been able to convince Hannibal to go after the man, even after riding him in the study and begging Hannibal to kill with him. When they were panting and worn out on the couch, Hannibal had kissed his head and told him that they need not worry about every passing stranger with a tendency for rude remarks. 

Perhaps he's become too lenient in his middle age. If he had chosen to join Will on this trip, they could have avoided _this_. 

Hannibal approaches the house and is delighted to see the authorities haven't found the body first, if a body exists. Perhaps Will had decided to wait an extra day, nervous about killing alone. But, as Hannibal circles round the house and stalks closer to the front door, the scent of blood fills his nostrils. Burns his senses like acid. There must be quantitative amounts spilled.

He carefully enters Lawry's home, following the acrid scent to the living room where the blood from Lawry's corpse has sunken into the rug. Hannibal scrunches up his nose; the man had also apparently had an issue with his bowel movements at the time of his death. 

Hannibal freezes when he sees it: a knife in the hand of Calvin Lawry. He plucks it from the man's cold fingers and licks a stripe of blood from the steel.

 _Will_.

Hannibal's expression shifts, and he hones in on faint bloody footprints leading from the rug to a ground floor window. He follows the footprints to a woodchipper outside where they stop.

Ignoring the trepidatious pounding in his heart, he whispers, "clever boy."

Will had placed his boots in the woodchipper, erasing any and all strategies the police could use to track him into the woods. The police however, do not have a keen sense of smell. Hannibal's is stronger than a canine's. It's faint, but he does smell Will as he ventures further into the thick brush. He thanks the powers that be that it is summer. He couldn't imagine frostbite affecting Will's gorgeous, angelically structured feet.

When Will's scent begins to pick up, Hannibal allows himself to feel optimistic. He notices blood drops on the ground as he strolls closer to a small clearing. Will is there, huddled against a tree, clutching his bleeding stomach.

Hannibal doesn't notice the brace made of sticks on Will's leg until he's standing in front of him, mere inches away. 

"Hannibal," Will grinds out. "Thought you'd come to get me."

"You look terribly pale, Will. Shall we venture home?"

"No 'I told you so'?"

"No." Hannibal smiles fondly, stroking gently on Will's broken leg. "Was it painful?"

"It _is_. Get off." 

Hannibal picks him up despite Will's protestations. Will surrenders in seconds, perhaps realizing the only way out of this forest is going out bridal style. They walk in silence until they reach the car, Will nuzzling into Hannibal's suit just a bit. He thinks he hears a mumbled, "I missed you," but doesn't ask for clarification.

When he is buckling Will into the passenger's seat, Hannibal says, "The two days prior to the murder are meant for you to discover any hidden abilities or advantages the prey may hold over you. Were you unable to discover that he could potentially overpower you?" 

"No, Hannibal, I didn't figure out until _after_ my leg was broken that he was a master of Jiu Jitsu."

Will's words are dripping with sarcasm, but Hannibal can clearly see the flush coloring him from cheek to neck is an embarrassed one. 

"Will, you are not an expert in this life. It may take a while before you can—"

"Just shut up and drive before I bleed out." 

Hannibal grips his face and forces him to make eye contact. Will had been avoiding his gaze this whole time and he can see why now. Will's face has intense insecurity embedded into it, disappointment blatant in the curves and creases of his eyes and mouth. He's ashamed, humiliated, and would have been ready to die rather than come home to Hannibal as a failure.

"Will, a broken leg and a cut will not define the path of your becoming."

He dares not remind him of how many injuries they both suffered after the Dragon.

Will tries to turn away but Hannibal holds him still. He doesn't seem to take to this reassurance, so Hannibal changes course.

"When I was nineteen, just starting out, a man I tried to kill kneed me in the balls and I keeled over for ten minutes, defeated on the floor of his barn." 

Will's eyes widen, not expecting this story. Hannibal rarely references his past and to hear of something so degrading overpowers Will's own version of personal failure just enough for him to begin laughing, a bright, and lovely display.

Hannibal continues. "He got away without a scratch. With nothing, his dignity if anything. Will, you do not need to become hung up on moments like this. Especially when you succeeded in Lawry's death." 

Will's frustration translates into something more sheepish and he turns his cheek into Hannibal's now gentle palm. "I know. I just wanted you to…" He can't say it. Hannibal knows what he means, however.

"Will, you must never believe you need to prove anything to me. I'd much rather you be alive than perfect. I'd much rather you be yourself than anything more."

Will kisses him then, and whispers loving things in his ear that turn into lewd promises whilst they drive home. Hannibal may be guilty of surpassing the speed limit. 

Hannibal decides to play with him when they slowly approach their house. "I must warn you, Will. There have been changes while you've been away."

He receives the desired effect. Will is immediately overcome with confusion, and an appropriate amount of wariness. 

"What do you mean?"

"A thief has occasionally made their appearance at the porch. I've managed to drive them away. But, they've become persistent."

"Why haven't you killed them?" Will blurts out, baffled.

Hannibal sighs, making sure to sound dramatically afflicted. "I think you're the only one that can deal with this pest, dear Will. Who knows what they've stolen since my departure."

Will stares at him like he has three heads, and hesitates when the car is parked in the driveway. He takes Hannibal's hand, leaning on him as he hops his way to the back of the house. He mutters questions on their way to the porch in the backyard, but Hannibal stays strong in his silence, remaining a quiet perch and nothing else. 

"She's back," Hannibal says with another sigh. Will cranes his neck towards the cluster of dogs playing, and it takes him a moment to register that the intruder Hannibal was referencing is in fact a large Sloughi.

"You're a dumbass," Will declares, shoving a grinning Hannibal away from him. In his pseudo defiance, he stumbles and Hannibal catches him. 

"She's a thief, Will. I made chocolate eclairs from scratch and she stole one right from the table." He gestures to their outdoor furniture on the porch. "Her height is deadly advantage."

“A girl,” Will muses with a smile. 

“A girl,” Hannibal repeats, knowing where this is going. 

Will kisses Hannibal's shoulder, and whispers, "Can I name her Eclair?"

Hannibal cannot deny Will a single thing. Especially not with the blood loss making him slightly drunk, too alluring to even comprehend declining. 

"Of course," He mumbles back, kissing the top of Will's head. "Myliu."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took 40 years, college is fucking me in the ass with a barbed wire dildo


End file.
